


Music To My Ears

by goodguymercy



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Artist Steve Rogers, Blushing Steve Rogers, Bucky really likes Steve wearing his clothes, Cuties, Eventual Smut, Gay, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Multiple chapter fic, No homo but lots of actual homo, Period-Typical Homophobia, Piano player Bucky, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes, Shy Steve Rogers, Skinny Steve Rogers, Steve just wants to be loved, Stucky - Freeform, Stucky fan fiction, my boys - Freeform, oh who am i kidding it's not really slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 17:16:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9667778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodguymercy/pseuds/goodguymercy
Summary: Steve spent much of his life longing to be wanted. Yet, those feelings leave him unable to accept the interest of others, even from tall, dark and handsome Bucky Barnes. His piano skills and quick wit draws Steve in, but can he afford to accept his affections? To Steve, it's dangerous, but Bucky’s easygoing smile and bright gray eyes are intoxicating, and certainly irresistible.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is something that I have been working hard on for quite a while. I hope you love my take on Bucky and Steve as much as I do.

    **Chapter 1: Nox Dulcis (Sweet Night)**   

     The sharp scent of alcohol drifted lazily from the bar across the room. Both men and women clustered around the messy wooden counter, ordering drinks and flirting with the bartenders. The air was bubbly and warm, and the unmistakable scent of sweat and cologne followed the people that stumbled by.

       Despite the rowdy atmosphere, Steve kept to himself; hiding in a corner booth while clutching his sketchbook close. Steve’s friend Thomas invited the small man out to the Red Star, talking a lot about finding him a girl. In all honesty Steve didn’t think Thomas cared one way or another, as the sandy-haired lawyer was dancing very close with a dame and hadn’t joined him since the night started at seven.

      The piano in the corner of the room played an upbeat tune, the crowd bobbing with the sound of the music. It was a simple tune but it was played with a fervor and passion that Steve could easily admire, even though the player couldn’t be seen through the throng of dancing people. The small blond never really found himself liking the nights out, but this time at least there was something to tap his foot to.

      He took a sip from the wet glass of water in front of him, drying his fingers on his tan pants before resuming his sketch. It was hard to concentrate with the loud atmosphere and even harder with his sketchbook drawn close to his chest to avoid curious eyes.

       It also wasn’t helped when his heavily intoxicated friend made a way through the crowd towards the corner respite Steve clung to. Thomas stumbled into Steve’s table, dragging a giggling girl behind him. He sat down roughly, the booth shaking slightly and almost knocking over Steve’s water. Steve pursed his lips, casting an annoyed glance at the drunk twenty-five year old. Unlike Steve, who considered himself quite responsible, Thomas lived for the moment and often paid for it.

       “Hey, Steve-boy. Y’ aren’t gonna get a lady sitting here sketchin’. Why don’t you try to dance or something?” He chuckled, tickling the waist of the girl who’d sat in his lap. She jumped and giggled.

       “Yeah, Sam. You’re a total cutie. Not my type, but someone’s.” The girl attempted a reassuring smile, but her eyes were glazed from alcohol and her mouth moved ineffectually.

      Steve ignored that she called him Sam, and closed his sketchbook. He was tired of girls’ poor attempts at making him feel better. It was always the same thing. _You’re cute, but not my type. Someone’s gotta like you, just not me._  With a small, half-hearted smile Steve stood up, grabbing his book and jacket. Avoiding seeming rude, he excused himself from the table. Tom gave him a confused look and opened his mouth to talk.

      “It’s fine, Tom. I’m just not feelin’ good tonight ya know? I’ll see you tomorrow or something.”

      With that he shrugged on his coat and weaved through the crowd, leaving behind a confused Tom. He glanced over his shoulder and seconds later, the man was back to flirting. _Of course he was, that man has no shame._ Steve felt a little peeved, but mostly amused by that.

      Just as Steve was approaching the door, a small uncomfortable cry sounded to his left. His blue eyes searched for the source of the sound and in a shaded corner a little ways from the bar, a man had a girl up against the wall. His hand pressed roughly against her tiny waist. Most people couldn’t see the exchange, and the few that did were too drunk to even care. Steve waited for a few moments to make sure they weren’t just fooling around, and as the man held her face with fingers digging into her cheeks, Steve practically pushed people out of the way to get to him. He knew it would end badly, it always did but he couldn’t just leave the girl.

       At least he had Tom to back him up.  
He looked back to call in his friend, only Tom was already walking out the exit with the girl. Steve stopped in his tracks, considering and taking a breath before immediately pushing forward. He approached the man, all 5’4” inches of him. When the man pulled his gaze from the scared girl to regard Steve, he laughed.

       “This one’s mine little guy. Try and find one yer own size.” He grinned with crooked teeth and turned back to the woman against the wall.

      “I don’t think she wants to. And I think you need to leave her alone.” Steve countered, giving a look to the fearful gaze of the trapped girl. She nodded to Steve, and nervously edged her way out of the arms around her torso.

      The arms tightened around her and she let out a pitiful cry as the man slid a finger down her cheek.

      “I’d say she wants to plenty. And I’d say you need to get lost, kid. Before I give you a real beating. And I won’t like to because I don’t hit girls.” He chuckles to himself and then shoves Steve’s shoulder a little too strongly.

       Without thinking, Steve punches the man square in the face. His blow was obviously ineffectual, but the drunk man stumbled a little before coming back at him fast. All Steve could do was brace himself as the bigger man plowed into his body. Everything hurt, but Steve refused to make a sound as the man began to pummel him. He remained standing at least, until his back was up against the bar.

      People scattered as glasses broke, casting shards onto the floor. The bartenders rushed over to break up the fight, arms flailing as they attempted to drag the man off of Steve. Blows fell hard on Steve’s face and before another could land, he dropped and shimmied out of the way as a bottle broke above his head. Steve guessed it was safe to assume that the man had punched the bottle instead of his face. He let out a roar and grabbed a handful of Steve’s jacket and pulled him up from his hands and knees.

      “C’mere you!” He growled.

      Steve prepared for the pain of a punch but it never came. In fact, he fell from the man’s grasp. Looking around, he saw a wide ring of people gawking at him. The music had stopped playing, and a quiet had settled in the tense room. _Why are they looking at me?_  Steve wondered. He was immediately answered by the fact that they weren’t looking at him. The man who’d beaten Steve was pressed against the bar, his arm twisted into his back and his cheek digging into the wood.

      Steve’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of the man who held him at bay. His hair was shiny and dark, tousled in messy and sweaty strands. His jaw line was amazing, and his eyes… they were a beautiful gray-blue. _Steve, what the hell are you thinking?_  The man had a cold, aggressive look to his face, and his teeth dug into his bottom lip. Steve’s gut jerks at the tongue that peeks out. _I’m not a queer. Who even is that?_

     “I think you need to calm down and get outta here.” The dark-haired man whispered into the disabled attacker’s ear.

     With a grunt, the man pushed away from the bar, glaring at Steve and his savior. He took off, bumping into people as he yanked open the door and left. No one else said a word as Steve blushed, embarrassment clutching his chest. The man who saved him raised his voice, calling above the chatter that had suddenly started up.

      “The bar’s closed for the night! Time to go!” He turned to the two bartenders, and in a lower voice added “You two can go as well, I’ll clean up in here. Don’t want you to take the fall on this one ‘kay?”

    The bartenders nodded and whispered thanks before promptly leaving, corralling a few patrons to the door.

    People grumbled and began to exit, a few fighting to stay, but glancing at the tall, muscular man had them thinking twice and leaving. As Steve begrudgingly took towards the door, he heard a person clear their throat.

     “Hey, you okay kid? I saw whatcha did there. Helping the girl. That was brave. Stupid, but brave. You want some ice or something?”

    Steve regarded him with deep blue eyes, finally taking a step towards him. He nodded, and the man grabbed a bar rag, filled it with ice and settled it in the small palm of Steve’s hand. Steve shivered a little at the warm feeling of his fingers brushing against Steve’s. He had such nice hands too. The fingers were long and slim, the blunt ends gripping the belt at his waist. They were larger then Steve’s, and certainly the fingers of a painter or sculptor. At least that’s what Steve would assume.

      The small blond gingerly put the ice onto his cheek, the cold not really helping but acting as something to keep his mind off of other thoughts.

      Steve took a long time watching the man who stood silently to him. He was wearing a nice button up shirt, which clung to him from sweat. _Why does that look so nice? Get it together Steve_. He’d never felt an attraction to a man before, but he had certainly no other way to describe the tugging in his pants when he looked at him. Or the rush that went through his body as he brushed a finger lightly over Steve’s swollen cheek.

      “That looks pretty bad. Already starting to bruise. Y’sure you don’t wanna sit down or something?”

     Steve was barely able to reply with a quiet "I’m good" before he calmed down from that simple touch. _What’s happening to me? I probably got hit way too hard in the head._

     “The name’s Bucky. I play the piano and bartend here. What’s your name, Mr. Warrior?” Bucky laughs, nudging his shoulder lightly.

     Steve remembered the long, slender digits of his fingers. _Not artist, but piano hands. Beautiful._  Steve thought to himself before realizing he had to reply.

     “Steve. I’m… just Steve. I uh” He chuckled lightly “M’sorry I broke all those glasses and y’know fighting and stuff.” He mumbles out, worried Bucky might turn his aggressive glare on him. _Then again, the way he bit his lip was just_ … Steve broke his mind away from his train of thought and looked at the brunet.

     “It’s no problem. The guy was a total creep. If you didn’t fight him first, I would’ve.” His laugh was bubbly and warm, and Steve figured he’d do just about anything to hear it again.

     The thought caused a blush to return to Steve’s skin, coating his face and neck, dipping into the collar of his shirt to spread across his chest. Bucky noticed, licking his dark pink lips and offering a sweet smile.

      “Ya ain’t got no reason to be so nervous. M’not even gonna make you help clean up. You can stay if you want, while I do. Be some sweet company.”

    Bucky’s offer was certainly tempting, and after a few second of pretending to deliberate, Steve accepted. The smile on Bucky’s face was enough to brighten the sun, and Steve wondered why Bucky would feel so excited just to spend time with him. _I’m just me. I ain’t anything special_.

      Bucky gestured for Steve to sit at a nearby table while he cleaned up. The entire time, Steve watched Bucky’s muscles working under his shirt. It was the most sensual thing Steve had seen, and honestly confused him because an hour ago he’d been completely sure he was straight.

      At a certain point, Steve was sure Bucky was acting on the purpose of arousing him. He had cleaned up all the glass, and was wiping down the counter, one knee up on a stool, his tight pants cupping his ass perfectly. His shirt rode up just a sliver, revealing the dimples in his muscular lower back. His back bowed, arching downwards so he could reach the opposite lip of the wooden bar. The sight was amazing, and Steve found himself tightening his legs to hide an oncoming erection.

       A wave of electricity ran through Steve’s body as Bucky stood up, leaned back with his hands on his defined hips and stretched. An almost orgasmic, soft moan escaped Bucky’s lips. It went straight to Steve’s groin, and if he’d paid closer attention, he would’ve seen the way Bucky looked at him. He dipped down, stooping to get something from the floor. Bucky’s back did the arch again, and even though he should’ve squatted, he instead bent over suggestively to grab whatever he was getting.

      “I think this’s yours, Steve.”

      _You sure should be._  Steve thought, and immediately blushed when he realized Bucky was holding his now dirty sketchbook. It was upsetting, seeing his prized book dirty and scuffed but after flipping through at least the pages were still clean.

      “Thanks, this sketchbook is my life.” Steve breaths a laugh through his nose, sending a sheepish smile Bucky’s way.

     “Could I see it? Your sketches I mean.” Bucky questions, humor glinting bright in his stormy eyes.

      The question took Steve aback, as most people never asked about him let alone his sketches. What would probably be funny to anyone else, but not Steve was the moment of panic that seized him when he didn’t remember if there were any nude drawings in it.

      “S’okay. You don’t have to. I know it’s probably personal…”

      “Yes!” Steve blurted accidentally too loud. “I mean, yeah you can see it. Let me just…”

     As nervous as he felt about showing Bucky something so personal so soon, he gently opened the first page, the yellowed paper crinkling slightly. Nervously, Steve held out the sketchbook, facing the dark-haired pianist. He slipped the book from Steve’s fingers, holding it delicately. Bucky flipped each page slowly, his beautiful fingers brushing the air above each drawing before moving on. _His eyes hold such life_ , Steve mused as he watched Bucky’s concentrated gaze travel across the paper.

       “These are amazing, Steve. Honestly, the detail is incredible. The way that the lines move across the paper, the shading… It’s stunning.” Bucky’s words warmed Steve.

     It was nice, to for once be in the glow of adoration from someone so incredibly beautiful. Steve let himself bask in it, wrapping Bucky’s words around him like a warm blanket. Bucky let out another bubbly laugh, closing the sketchbook and handing it back. His giggles tugged at something in Steve, that desperation to hear more. To never stop making this man laugh. It beyond confused Steve, but he didn’t linger on it. _I’m allowed to have feelings, doesn’t matter who they’re for_. Steve’s sudden thoughts scared him. Liking a man just wasn’t something you could do as another man. And an invert wasn’t something Steve could be, it was beyond dangerous.

     “Seriously, you’ve got a real talent. You’re an amazing artist.”

      That tug happened again, the reaction to this man’s praise quickly becoming a problem for Steve. He blushed yet again, rosy warmth spreading to his chest. Bucky’s red lips were slick, glinting in the light from over the bar. They were plush and inviting, and beautifully feminine. Steve wondered what they’d feel like pressed against his own. It almost happened, he felt himself moving towards the taller man, who didn’t back away or flinch. Instead, gazing up at Bucky with his tiny chest breathing unsteadily, he murmured.

    “You’ve got a real talent too. Can you play for me?”

    The question was voiced incredibly personal and somehow intimate, but if Bucky noticed he didn’t let on.

    “Course I will. Hmm. I’ve got one that ‘minds me of your art a little. So I’ll play that.” Bucky clasped his fingers around the smaller digits of Steve’s.

     Steve let out a tiny, inaudible gasp. No one had ever touched him in such a familiar manner. Not to mention Bucky just seemed so comfortable as he led him to the piano’s bench. Steve left his sketchbook and ice on the table, gladly letting himself be whisked away by Bucky. The brunet settles onto the seat, the wood creaking lightly under his weight. Steve pulled up a stool to the edge of the dark, shiny piano. Lacing his fingers together on the large instrument, he rested his head on them, gazing at Bucky in front of him.

       Steve watches as Bucky settles his long fingers over the keys, the tips barely brushing. The small blond holds his breath as Bucky starts to play. The mournful tune starts in a lower key, the deep notes reverberating in Steve’s chest. It flows languidly, floating on humming notes that punctuate the feeling of sorrowful longing. It was definitely classical, perhaps Beethoven or someone similar. Steve couldn’t name it, but the way it made him feel whilst looking at Bucky was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. It was like the music flowed between them, a song only meant for the two of them to share. His eyes met Bucky’s, who stared back with intensity beyond his years.  
The song picked up tempo for a short period, the high sounds floating into the air before plummeting down into sad, yearning notes. The beautiful juxtaposition of sounds took away Steve’s breath, as did the sound of Bucky humming sweetly over the piano. _How did I not know Bucky over an hour ago?_ Steve felt as if in that moment, surrounded by the music floating through the air and Bucky’s pleasant smile, that he had known this man for an eternity.

      The song slowed, ending on a final heavy low-note that hummed through Steve’s small chest. He didn’t speak for a while, dumbfounded by the beautiful display of art that had graced his ears just a few moments prior.

     “That, was…just… beautiful Bucky. The way you play so fluidly. God, I have goosebumps.” Steve showed him the raised bumps on the pale skin of his forearm.

    “S’not as good as some other ones I could do.” Bucky raises a side of his lips into a nervous smile, the once-confident man’s cheeks decorated with a light blush.

    “I think it’s perfect. It really reminds you of my art?” Steve whispers, scooting his stool closer to the pianist.

    “Yeah. The dark, sketchy lines remind me of the feeling when I get into low notes. S’nice.”

    Steve nodded, not really understanding Bucky’s deduction but still finding his voice comforting. They sat for a while, just basking in each other’s company. It was a while before Bucky spoke up, shocking Steve out of the pleasant haze that had enveloped him.

    “Guess it’s time to lock up.” He rose from the bench, stretching a little before tossing a quick smile at Steve.

   “Guess so. Thanks for the ice and playing for me.”

   Steve nervously held out his hand for a handshake, attempting to make it look formal and not because he just wanted to feel those wonderful fingers of Bucky’s.  
Bucky took his hand delicately, the pads of his fingers rubbing intimately over Steve’s small, pale palm. It wasn’t a firm, manly handshake but the caress of a lover. As much as Steve craved to indulge in it, he resigned himself to the fact that he couldn’t. He withdrew his arm, holding it close to his body. He could still feel those beautiful fingertips ghosting over his soft flesh.  
Bucky gave him a look, one of slight disappointment but also a glimmer of understanding. Men just didn’t do that together. They didn’t hold hands, whisper intimate words of praise or want to hold themselves close against the other’s skin. But God, did Steve want to.

      Bucky broke away from Steve first, his loss like a deprivation of warmth and charm to the lonely, small man. He disappeared into a back room, leaving Steve alone for a few empty seconds before returning. He held a small keychain in his hand that jingled lightly.  
Steve followed him to the bar, grabbing his sketchbook as Bucky wrung out the wet ice rag into the sink. The twosome then walked quietly to the exit, Bucky stopping briefly to grab his dark leather jacket. The door wasn’t large but it felt like it to Steve. It felt like finality, a throbbing reminder that this could be the first and last time he spoke to this intriguing man.

    Outside was slightly chilly, the air clean but muggy with the aftermath of rain. Above, the sky was dark, the vague fuzzy dots of stars decorating it’s puffy, cloudy expanse. Behind Steve, Bucky was locking the door. After a few seconds of jingling, he heard the lock click into place. They stood close to each other, closer than Steve had ever stood with a total stranger.

    “Well, I guess this is goodbye then.” Steve murmured, watching his shoes scuff the wet pavement.

    He held his sketchbook close to his chest, a shield against the pain that formed when he thought of leaving this stranger. A shield against the world he so often hid from. Steve gazed achingly up at the brunet, who was a good six inches taller than him. Bucky’s eyes glistened in the pale streetlight, his olive skin illuminated by angelic yellow hues. It made the ache even worse to see him in the light.  
When Bucky didn’t say anything, Steve pursed his lips and started to walk away. Tom had been his ride, and since he left with a girl it abandoned him with either paying for a taxi he didn’t have money for, or walking.

     “It doesn’t have to be.” Bucky spoke quietly a few feet behind him. “Goodbye, I mean.”

    Steve stopped dead in his tracks, hearing Bucky’s steps in the small puddles that dotted the sidewalk. He was close behind Steve. Dangerously close. In fact so close Steve could feel his light breaths on his neck, and could smell the masculine scent he carried. With trembling knees, Steve swiveled to look up at the handsome face he’d come to be fascinated with over the last hour. His enticing jaw was clenched, something close to need in his eyes. Steve realized his lips were so close. All he’d have to do is lean up and press his mouth against Bucky’s.

     “Do ya need a ride home? I gotta bike parked around back.” Bucky asked, his warm breath fluttering over Steve’s lips.

      “Yes. Thanks.”  
Steve barely managed those words as he took a step back, breaking the tension that had formed between them. Steve was sure he had imagined it. Bucky was probably just a touchy person, there was no way someone that handsome would be queer, much less interested in a skinny asthmatic artist like Steve.

      Bucky led him around the squat brick building, into a back alley where his bike sat cloaked in a thin plastic covering. Bucky hastily tore it off, revealing the beautiful motorcycle underneath. It was a large bike, well-kept and shiny, it’s main frame a crimson red.

      “How’d you afford such a beauty like this?” Steve asked, staring with astonishment. He didn’t know a piano player/bartender made so much.  
Bucky laughed, his lips raised in a sweet smile above the kissable dimple on his chin.

      “My parents bought it for me a long time ago. Probably the best thing they ever did for me.” His eyes carried sorrow, glinting in the sparse light of the back alley.

      Steve decided not to push the subject. Bucky’s comment about his family reminded Steve that he knew nothing about him other than his profession and art preferences. It was a sobering fact, one that pulled him out of the dreamy haze he’d been in since the handsome man noticed him.

      “Yeah….” Steve trailed off, trying to diffuse the awkwardness stemming from his new, forcibly detached attitude.  
He couldn’t like Bucky that way, and Bucky couldn’t like him. _We don’t even know each other_.

     Steve then told himself two things over and over again. _1: We are both straight and this was a fluke. 2: Even if we were inverts (which we aren’t) Bucky would never like you._ It was enough to get Steve to calm down, repeating the self-deprecating chant in his head. It was the same thing he did with anyone he liked, he distanced himself because they would never like him back.

     “Where do ya live Stevie?” Bucky queried as he settled onto the bike, his perky butt looking not at all amazing on the seat. Steve noticed that he had grabbed his sketchbook and with delicate care, put it into the side bag on his bike.

     A warm feeling bubbled its way into Steve’s chest. _He called me Stevie._ The name was childish certainly, but being called it by his new… friend? Acquaintance…? Bucky? Whatever he was to Steve, he made his heart pound just by calling him a pet name. Steve joined him on the bike, sitting as far back as he could so as to not be pressed against the leather jacket covering the beautifully defined muscles of his back.

    “Um, heh…” He laughed nervously, flustered after being called Stevie like some cute little dame Bucky was charming. “I don’t live very far from here. It’s on Copper St. I could walk if it’s outta your way.”

    “S’not outta my way. ‘Sides I don’t really feel right letting ya walk home alone. You might get yourself in more trouble.” Bucky chuckled, adjusting himself on the bike.

   In a spontaneous move that surprised and accidentally aroused Steve, Bucky reaches around with both arms, grips behind Steve’s knees and pulls him flush to Bucky’s leather-clad back.

    “Ya gotta sit closer, Steve. I don’t wantcha falling off on me. Don’t be shy to hold onto me neither, you’re gonna need to.”

    Steve hesitantly circles Bucky’s chest with his small arms, barely able to hold on to the large man’s width. He absentmindedly notices the smell on Bucky, like leather and musk, all masculine and quite unlike the sweet, feminine smells he normally liked.  
The engine rumbles to life, loud in the seclusion of the back alleyway. It vibrates between Steve’s thighs, not unpleasant but certainly awkward with his body so close to Bucky’s.

     A moment of panic seizes Steve as the bike pulls forward, causing his grip to tighten around the bigger man.

     “Told ya to hang on. Don’t hesitate to hold lower if it’s a better grip.” Bucky shouts over the loud, grumbling engine.

    Steve’s hands inch ever so slowly down to entwine around Bucky’s midsection. They then gained speed, pulling out of the alley and roaring down the street, the deafening noise echoing off of the commercial buildings of Broad Blvd. It was scary for Steve, the rumbling, the lack of safety. The probability that if he were to fall, he’d die. Despite this, Steve felt incredibly safe snuggled up to Bucky’s back. He felt that as long as he was close to this mysterious pianist, he’d never have to worry about another thing. To be honest, he had never realized just how much he craved that feeling of safety.

      They rounded onto Copper Street, driving past the many residential buildings and houses lining the sidewalks. As they approached Steve’s apartment building, the blond tugged lightly on Bucky’s chest. The bike slowed, stopping short a couple feet from the entrance. The engine quietly idled, each puff counting down the seconds before Steve had to say goodbye. He clamored off the bike, his legs readjusting to the lack of vibrations on the ground. Bucky then reached into the side bag, slipping out Steve’s sketchbook and handing it over with a cheeky grin.

     “Thanks. For the ride and everything. It means a lot that y’know, you liked my art too.” Steve was blushing again, quite unsure how to day goodbye while also asking to see him again. Just to be friends of course, so he could learn more about Bucky.

      “No problem. You really are an amazing artist. And hey, I work 4 to 9 all week except for Saturday and Sunday. You should come by again sometime.” Bucky’s eyes glinted with humor, and a small shadow of apprehension.

    Steve was suddenly overtaken with the desire to kiss away the doubt on his face. To press his lips against the defined column of Bucky’s throat, and whisper words of adoration into his skin. The thought made him so incredibly flustered that Steve managed to make a fool of himself by replying too quickly and too loudly. He rambled quite a bit, gripping the back of his elegant, long neck with nervous fingers.

    “Yeah, I’d love to do that… I mean if it’s not getting in th’ way of your job. I mean, if you lost your job ‘cause of me I don’t even know… I’d probably hide under a rock. Then you’d hate me…”

    “I probably wouldn’t. Don’t overthink so much Stevie. It’s gonna leave lines on that pretty face.” Bucky’s lips crack into a toothy smile. He revs up the engine, and swipes a hand through his dark, silky hair. “See ya around.”

    Bucky winked and drove away, splashing through puddles as he disappeared behind a corner. Steve watches him the entire time, committing the shape of his broad jaw, the regal slope of his nose and plushness of his lips to memory. The fondness for his pet name hadn’t faded, causing a warm feeling to gather in his belly and chest. Not to mention Bucky had called him pretty. From any other person it would’ve pissed him off, but somehow the feminine adjective sounded so right spilling from Bucky’s lips.  
Steve held his sketchbook close again, ascending up to his home. Unlocking the door, he entered his sparsely decorated apartment. Steve hung his keys on the hook by the door, leaning back against the cold wooden material. He let himself slip down until he was sitting. His knees pushed against his chest lightly, holding the sketchbook firm to his body.

    Salty tears made their way into his eyes and for the life of him, he had no idea why. They kept slipping from his eyes, running warm lines down his pale, beauty-marked face. He didn’t sob, or even make a single sound. He just cried, his delicate hands perched upon his brow. He didn’t know how long he sat there, crying like a mute child on the floor, but eventually the tears stopped and he let out the breath he had kept in.

     He instantly remembered the soft feeling of Bucky’s hands on his body. The small man could swear he still felt everywhere Bucky touched. He could feel the gentle warmth against his cheek, the feeling of his hands caressing Steve’s palm, and the erotic sensation behind his knees where Bucky had dominantly grabbed and pulled tight. It seemed crazy but if those touches were so impactful, Steve wondered what it’d be like for Bucky to touch him elsewhere with intent. To glide his masculine fingers down the pale, bony expanse of Steve’s chest. To grip almost painfully on the defined bones of his hips.

      It certainly was crazy, and wrong on many levels. But Steve was allowed to indulge in thoughts. It’d never be more than just thoughts. Right?


	2. Philia and Eros (Love and Lust)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve shares his feelings with his closest friend, and falls harder for the dark-haired pianist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm impatient and it took all will not to post this sooner.

       “Why’re you smiling so much, Steve? Get a new sketchbook or something?” 

       Sylvia gazed down at Steve, who huddles over the table containing new art to be hung in the gallery. The works were all numbered and categorized, coming from at least six different donors.

       Steve ignored her question, instead plucking up a canvas ever so delicately and marching it over to it’s assigned spot for a an upcoming show.

       Steve risked a glance back at his tall female friend. She wore pants, to the disdain of the many “civilized” people who often gave her nasty glances. Tucked into the high-waisted pants was a size too big t-shirt that strained against her large chest. Her eyes glinted with amusement, clearly finding Steve’s sudden blushing to be hilarious.

       “It’s nothing, Vi. Just feeling happy alright?” Steve strained to hang the canvas, his short height making him sigh. 

      Arms reached out from behind him, seeming to come from nowhere as they lifted the canvas onto it’s hook. Vi then appeared to his right and leaned against the wall, her height and muscle making her seem more like a man than Steve. 

      “I’ve known you for the better part of thirteen years Steve. You don’t just smile at nothing. So tell me, if it’s not a sketchbook, is it a girl?” Sylvia grinned, noticing Steve become flustered and taking her chance to prod. “It is, isn’t it? You wanna talk about it?” 

      She didn’t bother Steve as much as he expected, which was a relief. It was probably because she knew how sensitive the subject was to Steve, who’d only ever known rejection from women. Well, except for Vi, who loved him so much he was surprised he ever got to leave his apartment. In short, Vi was his mother hen ever since he was in the 6th grade and she was in the 8th, and they’d been together through thick and thin.

      “It’s not a girl. I just met someone. A friend.”

     “What’s their name then?” She cocks a brow, obviously not taking his answer. 

      “Bucky. I met him at the Red Star after… ah... getting into a fight. He’s a bartender there, an’ he plays the piano real well. Gave me a ride home.” 

      He felt blush cover his cheeks thinking about Bucky and his beautiful gray-blue eyes. He should’ve expected it, but the next words out of Vi’s mouth were laced with annoyance and indignation.

      “You got into a fight? I swear honey, I’m gonna beat ya! How many times do I have to tell ya? You know what? I’m just going to let you get beat up. I’m done saving you!” She pursed her lips, her tanned and defined arms crossed stubbornly over her large chest.

      “You won’t stop. You love me too much.” Steve grinned back at her, his innocent blue eyes glinting with humor.

     Vi tried, she really tried to keep a straight face, but anyone who knew Vi also knew she couldn’t resist Steve. With a hearty laugh, she pulled Steve into a strong hug. 

      “You’re a little jerk you know that?” She sighed, setting her chin briefly on the top of his head before moving to look down at him.

     “So tell me more about Mr. Bucky.” 

      Steve hesitated at first, somehow feeling like Bucky was his, and the moments they shared were meant to be just between them. He opted on leaving out most details of the night, more focusing on Bucky’s talents and his bike. Vi listened attentively, her hands tucked into her pockets. 

      “So is this Bucky of yours easy on the eyes?” 

      Steve chokes a little, coughing at the unexpected question. Sylvia laughed at his sputtering, her dark brown ponytail bobbing with each hitch in her breathing. He finally gained his voice, grunting his throat clear before replying. 

      “How would I know? He’s just a guy, Vi. ” Steve chewed his lip, giving her a weird look before stalking back to the table. 

      “If I didn’t know better Steve, I’d say you were getting sweet on that _guy_.” Vi was touching on dangerous territory, and as much as Steve trusted her, he didn’t trust her enough to not turn him in for being an invert.

      “I ain’t queer! I just like him s’all. As a friend.” Steve sounded a little too forceful even to himself, and Vi could tell she struck a chord and backed off. 

      “Just making a joke, Steve.” Vi dipped her head in a placating manner, stepping back and quietly adding. “You know I’ll love you no matter what, hon.” She chewed the inside of her cheek, eyes warm and trusting.

      Steve knew what she was implying. As much fear as he had about being figured out, it was washed over by her words. She really was a great friend, and if he ever truly felt like he had feelings for Bucky, she’d be the first to figure it out. 

     “I know Vi.” 

      After that they were both quiet. They finished hanging some more pieces, and Steve double checked the piece numbers and made sure everything was in order. His normal job consisted of filing and organizing commissions and bought and sold pieces. It was a good break from that, even if he’d had to call Vi to help him hang up the pieces. 

      About an hour later, Vi had to leave for her job at the docks. Despite being a woman, she worked twice as hard as the men, most of whom feared her. She had been lucky to get the shipping job, and more than proved herself when she went to apply and a heavy crate fell on another worker. She’d lifted it all by herself, which surprised and pissed off a lot of other workers but her boss had loved it. He hired her right on the spot. Steve remembered that day. She came back to his apartment in a flurry of excitement, hugging him and pressing a firm kiss to his cheek. She’d explained everything and took Steve out to dinner. It was the happiest day Steve could remember, spent with his closest friend. 

       Steve watched as Vi exited the gallery, waving through the glass door at Steve and adjusting her jacket. He waved back, a warm smile plastered on his face. _Maybe I don’t have to be so distant from people. If Vi likes me, maybe Bucky could too. As a friend of course_.  
       

  ____________________________

       It was a few days later on a Tuesday when Steve finally dared to go back to the Red Star club. He left his apartment around five, a couple hours after he had gotten of work at the Reeves Art Gallery. The fading sun beat down merrily on the Brooklyn sidewalks, warming Steve as he paced the stretch of concrete outside the club, fingering the strap of his messenger bag in concentration. 

       The early evening air seemed to be cloyingly happy, with the smell of hotdogs wafted through the city and children’s laughter echoed as they played recklessly in the streets before their mothers would call them home.

       As per usual, Steve promptly ran through every scenario in his head, counting the mistakes he’d make and awkward ways Bucky would tell him he was sorry and didn’t actually want to see him. There seemed to be too many ways that it would go wrong, and that caused a sinking feeling of nausea to linger in his gut as he approached the entrance.

        Steve breathed out, his hands flexing before making half-confident fists. _You’re just gonna talk. Nothing else will happen and Vi will be here soon so it won’t be that bad_. He pushes open the door, struck by the sparsely populated club floor. 

      Only a few people sat in booths, eating peanuts and small crackers as they drank various alcoholic drinks. It was practically dead, and Steve wondered if Bucky was even there. He peered about nervously, inching his way into the club in his search for Bucky.

       He spotted the dark-haired pianist at the bar, serving whiskey to the early drinkers clustered around the counter. Bucky hadn’t noticed him yet, and was throwing a half-hearted flirty smile at a drunk girl pressing for another drink. Steve watched him for a while, taking in his white button-down shirt and suspenders that clipped onto his dark green pants. A small bead of sweat danced upon his brow, sliding down slowly until he wiped it away with his wrist. Steve couldn’t help but flush at the sight of his pretty hands. 

      Bucky looked away from the bar, his gaze eventually locking on to Steve’s tiny form. The smile that broke out on his face was bright enough to make the sun ashamed. He waved Steve over, tapping on the shoulder of another bartender and holding up four fingers. The other man nodded, patting Bucky’s shoulder and taking over his spot. 

       Bucky rounded the bar, coming out to join Steve in a dark booth near where Steve had fought the last time he’d been at the club. Red light played about Bucky’s face, cast by the crimson bulbs shaping a star above the counter. It made his already plush and feminine lips look absolutely kissable. Don’t think about him that way. Steve chided himself.

       “Hiya Steve. S’nice you came by. I was beginning to think I’d never see ya again.” Bucky grinned across the booth, swiping a soft brown strand behind his ear. It was so entirely endearing, all Steve wanted to do was sit close and nibble on the flesh just below his ear.

      “I was just busy at work. I wanted to come by earlier…”

      “Miss me did ya?” Bucky chuckles, licking his lips. Steve tried his damn best to not blush, which was becoming more normal than not blushing in Bucky’s presence. 

      “No…I mean yeah. I just…” Steve’s words faded into awkward laughing. Bucky laughed too, and it was a delightful feeling for it to be with him, not at him. 

       “Yer always so nervous around me. You have no reason to be, Stevie.” 

     That pet name went straight to Steve’s head, sparking off warm and fuzzy feelings throughout his body. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, even with Vi, his closest friend. 

      As if timed with fate, Vi walked into the Red Star. She obviously didn’t see where the two of them chatted, and he could hear her curse under her breath, and loudly say something about Steve chickening out. Steve laughed at that, which drew her attention to their booth. It was dark in their space, so she squinted at first and then strutted over. She was wearing almost the same outfit as Bucky, which Steve found pretty funny. The only difference was Bucky wore suspenders and Vi had a jacket on. A few girls threw Vi interested glances as she passed before realizing she was a girl as well. 

      “So this is the infamous Bucky.” She chuckled as she approached them, even though she couldn’t quite see Bucky’s face yet.

     “You got a girlfriend? And you told her about me?” Bucky chuckles, but anyone could see the flash of disappointment in his eyes. 

      “She’s just my friend. Been since I was twelve.” Steve quickly replies. 

      Bucky grins at that, and Steve briefly wonders why but shakes it away and fixes his attention on Vi when she gasps.

     “Well, I’ll be. If it isn’t James Barnes.” Her laugh is high-pitched and it doesn’t end until she’s wheezing and scooting into the booth next to Steve.

      “Oh my God. Sylvia? I haven’t seen you since the 1st grade.” Bucky strokes his hair back, obviously excited to see Vi. 

     Steve looked between them nervously, not exactly understanding what was going on. Bucky had a sly grin on his face, and Vi? She was laughing again, slamming her hand lightly on the table. A sinking feeling caused his high spirits to fade. What if they liked each other and it was Steve who reunited them? Figures it would’ve happened, Steve always managed to become a third wheel.

       “You two know each other?” He dared to ask, interrupting their laughing.   
Bucky and Vi both struggled to stop their chuckles, which made a feeling of jealousy strike Steve before retreating back as quickly as it came. It was Bucky who replied to him, casting humorous glances at Vi.

       “Yeah I know Sylvia. Kind of hard to forget her when she kicked my ass in the first grade.” 

     Vi snorted, her hand perched above her mouth as if to prevent another bout of laughing. She spoke from behind her hand, the sound of an oncoming laugh in her voice.

     “Well, you shouldn’t have run your mouth.” She looked pointedly at him, and then to Steve. “I’m keeping an eye on this one for you Steve. Let’s hope his troublemaking days are over.” 

       Steve realized just how little he knew about Bucky, and who he was before their meeting. It was disconcerting, yet also created a deep-seated urge to learn everything he could about him. To learn what his home life was like, and what films he liked to see and if he liked cats or dogs. So many questions burned at the tip of his tongue and he ashamedly wished Vi would go away so he could ask them.   
The sound of the bartender calling Bucky cut into his thoughts. 

      “Bucky? Yer break’s up. I mean I get it, I do. But rush is gonna be in here soon and ya know how they love the piano.” The man frowned, motioning to the four new customers that came in. 

       Bucky sighs, placing his palms on the table and standing up. His lips were pinched, and he obviously wanted to stay but Steve could already tell this man was dedicated. 

      “Hey, I get off at eight today so if ya both wanna stay or come back then we could catch up.” His face was hopeful, and he glanced out of the corners of his eyes at the impatient bartender.

     Vi looked disappointed as Steve glanced at her, her muscled arms crossed over her chest. 

      “Nah, I can’t. I work the night shift at the docks today. Actually… I gotta leave soon. It’ll just be you an’ Steve.” She then gave Bucky a hard stare. “By the way, if you hurt Steve you’re gonna get another ass-kicking from me.” With a little light hearted chuckle, she added. “ Not kidding. Hurt him, I hurt you.”

      “Jeez, Vi. Stop harassing the poor guy.” Steve’s brows were furrowed and he drew his lips into a thin line.

      “Ya know I can’t, you’re all I got kid.” She swooped a heavy arm over his slim shoulders and pulled him into a half-hug. Steve shrugged her off, getting embarrassed that he could be man handled by his girl best friend. 

       “Well, I’ll take that into consideration, Sylvia.” Bucky sauntered towards the piano, tossing a wink over his shoulder at them.

     “Call me Vi.” She called after him. He chuckled and gave her a salute, before settling down at the piano. 

     He began an upbeat tune, his fingers flying across the keys with adept swiftness. It made Steve tap his feet, smiling softly to himself. Vi followed suit, her shoes softly bumping the floor. She gazed at the pianist with something in her eyes. It wasn’t attraction, more confused but certainly not negative. Steve didn’t know what to think about that. He had already felt a little jealous, ashamed as he was that he’d stoop so low.   
Almost fifteen minutes later Vi was leaving for her work. She tapped Steve lightly on the back and gave him a firm look. 

      “Behave yourself. And tell me everything.” She jokingly whispered, patting his cheek before wandering to the exit. She gave him a last, stern glance and left.

      As nice as it was to be somewhat alone with Bucky, Vi’s departure left him entirely exposed and he suddenly felt horrible for ever wanting her to go. 

      With a sighed breath, he glances up at Bucky and wonders how that man had so easily come into his life. He felt nervous around him, yet also felt a confidence that he’d ever been able to with a girl. That still stumped him as well, the fact that Bucky attracted him enough for Steve to consider his actions around him. 

     And boy, did Bucky attract him. Steve took in every detail of the man as he played the piano. The yellow bulb above cast shadows from his long lashes atop his cheekbones ever so delicately. His plump lips glistened in the angelic pillar of light, upturned into a sweet smile. Everything about him seemed so soft, yet so rugged. The sharp sweep of his now gelled hair, and the angular line of his jaw contrasted the gentle slope of his lips and plush pink of his cheeks.

 _I guess I can find him attractive. I mean he’s a handsome guy. Doesn’t mean I’m queer._ Steve reasoned with himself.

       It was then in his moment of self-reassurance that Bucky decided to flash him a secret smile, and fingered a brief portion of the song that he’d played for Steve before. It was only a few bars of the music, and none of the deliriously drunk crowd noticed. But Steve did. His throat became dry and suddenly he remembered how close he sat against Bucky on his bike and the feeling of the soft pads of his fingertips sliding over his palm. 

        _Those beautiful hands_. Steve mused, watching the nimble digits tap out a different, upbeat song. He briefly imagined how those fingers would feel gliding over his skin, playing his body like he so effortlessly played the piano. It was such a dangerous thought, but Steve couldn’t care less as his heart pounded and his mind reeled from the sentimental trip he just experienced. All because of a few measures of music.

         Because damn beautiful Bucky Barnes had looked at him and seen more than a skinny asthmatic. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it, and if you'd like, follow me on tumblr @sirsteviebarnes


	3. Chapter 3- Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a bit intense for Steve and Bucky, helped by pancakes and pining.

       The piano stopped at exactly 8:05. However, the music continued from a jukebox the other bartender switched on. It wasn’t as clear as the piano’s notes but the song had a soulful voice and soft tune.   
Bucky wandered over to where Steve sat alone in the dark booth, finishing a sketch of him playing the piano. He started while waiting for Bucky to get off work, detailing the subtle lines of shadow that played about his perfect form. 

       A glass of lemon water sat on the table in front of him, ordered after being told he had to buy something to stay, no matter who’s friend he was.

       Steve glanced up, hearing footsteps approaching him. He half expected it to be someone asking him to move, but a wide smile covered his face when it was revealed to be Bucky. The handsome man settled into the booth next to him, pressed so close he felt his warmth through their shirts. 

        His eyes travelled over Steve’s sketch, taking in his own face and form. Steve nervously bit his lip, studying the brunet’s intrigued gaze. Not knowing what Bucky was thinking made him anxious, especially because the drawing wasn’t of a stranger. It was Bucky. 

       “I’m so… beautiful. Kinda like an angel. Is this how you see me?” Bucky’s eyes held a glossy, yearning gaze as they focused on Steve’s. 

       He was so close his breath tickled Steve’s face, sending shivers down his body. His lips were parted, near one of Steve’s soft, high cheekbones. Even in the shadowed booth anyone could see them and the looks Steve gave Bucky. A rush of panic seizes the shy man, and he blurts out a preposition he hadn’t intended.

       “You wanna get outta here? I mean, like, go eat or something. Or… I don’t know. What do you like to do?” He chuckles sheepishly, wishing he hadn’t opened his mouth. 

        Bucky probably thought he was weird, and most likely assumed he’d taken his friendship as flirting. There was no way Bucky would want to go anywhere with a guy, let alone Steve. He continued to deliberate, cursing himself for even thinking of Bucky that way. He was in fact in the middle of convincing himself to change his name and move to Canada when Bucky replied.

       “Yeah, I’d love to go. I’m starving. Let’s see… um, there’s a good diner not far from here if ya want to go there. Benny’s.” Bucky’s broad smile was quite possibly the most sappy and dorky thing Steve had ever seen. He loved every second he got to see it.

       “Sounds great. Just… uh, let me just finish my water.” Steve nervously gripped the cool glass, sipping down the remaining liquid. 

      A single lemon wedge rested in the bottom, although Steve barely tasted the citrus. Bucky chuckled, his fingers dipping into the glass.

     “Don’t want to waste this.” Bucky jokes, drawing the lemon out.

     Steve almost loses his breath as Bucky’s plush lips close around the soft wedge of yellow fruit. He hears a light sucking sound, and when Bucky draws his pink tongue over his mouth Steve unknowingly mimics the action. The brunet’s brow furrows, but that cheeky smile remained, the expression somehow erotic to Steve. He barely hears when Bucky drops the rind in the glass, and asks him if he’s ready to go.

       “Yes. Yeah. Let’s go get some food.” Steve shakes his head, feeling stupid for focusing so much on Bucky eating a simple lemon. 

      The twosome make their way out of the club, and into clean night air. It was dark outside, but the normal anxiety that would accompany Steve faded in Bucky’s presence. It was odd to Steve that he could already feel so comfortable and at ease with someone he barely knew. Then again becoming friends with someone new was odd to him. 

     It was a few minutes before Steve and Bucky were settled on his bike and pulling out onto the street. The motor hummed between Steve’s thighs and this time he circled Bucky’s waist confidently, his body pressed close for warmth. _Can’t go cold now can we?_  Steve reasoned, even though he knew very well that it wasn’t just for warmth. Being against Bucky’s broad back was the most comforting thing he’d ever felt. The faint smell of leather and musk was calming, and if the bike hadn’t been so loud Steve probably could’ve fallen asleep entangled with the mysterious man.   
       

            . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

      “You were right, this place is great! I think you just found my new favorite diner.” Steve gave a wide smile, shoveling a bite of syrupy pancake into his mouth. 

     The small, homely diner was colored in shades of cream and navy blue, decorating the floors and walls in respective checkered and striped patterns. Lined up along the broad window were complimenting blue booths and tables. They sat at a corner table with a perfect view of the night street.  
The scent of strong coffee and bacon floated through the air, and a small radio played an upbeat tune. The entire feel of the diner was comfortable, and it felt so right to Steve that he’d be there with Bucky.

       Steve was pleasantly surprised that Benny’s served breakfast all night, and decided early to make damn sure he enjoyed every bite. The sweet flavor of the maple syrup rolled over his tongue, blending with the fluffy but slightly bland pancake.

      Bucky sat across from him, neatly eating eggs and a few strips of bacon. It was paradoxically funny that the skinny blonde was making a syrupy mess of himself, while well-built Bucky had perfect table etiquette.   
While Steve ravenously enjoyed his food, Bucky watched with amused and adoring eyes. Steve hadn’t yet noticed the way Bucky regarded him, like a beautiful, flawed and perfect mess. That was until he finished his second pancake, and his eyes caught Bucky’s, his signature blush coming back in full force.

      With nervous fingers, Steve held the fork properly and began to eat more appropriate. His other hand anxiously plucked at the pile of napkins on the table, his fingers gripping the soft pale paper.

      “So Bucky, do ya mind if I find out a little more about you?” Steve licks syrup of his bottom lip, flashing the other man an endearing, shy smile. 

     “Of course I don’t mind. Though to be honest, I’m not all that interesting. Let’s see…My full name is James Buchanan Barnes, but I go by Bucky. I have a cat named Peanut, she’s a huge Maine Coon, biggest cat you’ll ever see.” He made large gestures, his movements animated and humorous. Steve couldn’t help but feel so in love with the dorky way he explained things.  
“I have a degree in music composition. In fact, the piece I played for you is one of mine.” His smile faded a little, his brows furrowing in into a yearning look. “You’re the first person I’ve shown it to.” He said honestly in a low voice.

       Steve couldn’t believe that Bucky had shared something so personal and intimate with him. That the handsome man had decided fight-prone, skin and bones Steve was worth being the first to hear. It made Steve’s heart beat a little faster, and a warm sensation blossomed from his chest. 

      “I’m twenty-six. I used to live here in Brooklyn when I was real young, but my family moved to New York and we stayed for a long time. I came back a couple years ago, after my parents… disowned me. That’s a story I don’t want to get into if that’s okay.” Bucky chewed the inside of his cheek, his gray eyes shadowed.

       “Of course. You don’t ever have to talk about something you don’t want to with me.” Steve fervently promised. He meant every word. 

       Bucky acknowledged his words with a earnest smile, his eyes bright in the pale light of the diner. He resumed speaking, his normal upbeat demeanor suddenly back. 

      “That’s pretty much it, I mean I don’t have a sweetheart or anything else. I used to come here a lot for dates, but I haven’t been in a while. You know how it is.” Bucky laughs, and takes a neat bite of bacon. 

     Steve really did now how it was. He just couldn’t understand how Bucky would, he was handsome and a complete gentleman. _How come he isn’t married off to a nice girl yet?_

       “I don’t know how you don’t have a girl. You’re a nice-looking fella, and you got a decent job.” Steve wondered, without really intending to say it aloud. 

       The corner of Bucky’s mouth pulled up in a sly smile. Steve had expected disgust, possibly Bucky calling him a queer and taking off, but what he didn’t expect was Bucky’s nice fingers brushing against his atop the pile of napkins.

     The simple touch sent electricity through his body. Steve gaped at their hands. They weren’t entangled, just the tips barely touching. The action was chaste, but God did it make Steve feel breathless.

      “Ya think I’m good-looking Steve?” Bucky sucks his bottom lip in, coating it in a shiny layer of saliva.

    Steve would bet his precious sketchbook he’d never blushed so hard in his life. His cheeks felt horribly warm, and his collar was suddenly too tight and hot.

     “No. I mean yeah, yer a nice-looking guy. You’ve got nice eyes, and… I don’t know. I was just wonderin’ is all.” His flustered rambling faded away into an awkward laugh. 

     “Hmm. I was thinking the same thing. You’ve got real pretty eyes too.” His voice lowered, despite the music and the loud noises of the kitchen. “Yer also kinda cute when your blushin’ about me.” 

       Bucky dipped his head, peering at Steve under his dark lashes. There was a look in his eyes that no one had ever given Steve before. One that made the small man feel like he was on fire.

      Steve heard the sound of shoes sliding on tile, and immediately felt a strong calf up against his smaller leg. Bucky’s warm muscled length brushed slowly against Steve’s. If anyone looked, they’d assume Bucky was stretching. Steve knew otherwise, because the languid strokes of his calf were nothing if not deliberate.

     After a few moments of hesitation, Steve reciprocated the brushes. That did something to Bucky, because suddenly his breathing became heavier, and his lids drooped over dark, dilated eyes. Bucky’s fingers gripped onto the side of the table until his knuckles were white, and his jaw clenched from biting his lip. He shifted slowly in his seat, his hips rolling as he released a breath, his parted mouth wet and dark pink. 

     Steve felt so alive, his body reacting to the way Bucky shamelessly rubbed against him. It was so dangerous, to be doing this in the middle of a diner, but Steve pushed away all thoughts keeping him from Bucky. The quiet friction continued, and Steve found it humorous that a simple game of footsie turned into the most erotic experience he’d ever had. 

      “Hmm. Ya don’t even know the things I’d…” Bucky started quietly.

      A waitress interrupted his words, and in unison, the two men jumped back from each other. Steve never felt more flustered and embarrassed, and he rubbed the back of his neck, pointedly looking at his shoes so she didn’t notice his blush.

       “Ya want some more coffee, sweeties?” She asked Steve and Bucky, holding a pot of coffee a few shades darker than her soft brown skin. 

       Steve didn’t even look up, shaking his head as he looked anywhere but the waitress who’d unknowingly interrupted them. 

       “Yes, as long as it’s from you…” Bucky winked at the waitress, who was in her late thirties.

     The waitress laughs, her warm brown eyes crinkling and pours a cup of coffee for Bucky. If she notices how odd Steve was being, she doesn’t let on. She just finishes pouring Bucky a cup and resumes her work.

     “You are too charming for your own good, kid. Enjoy.” 

     The woman leaves, returning behind the counter and Bucky releases a nervous sigh, huffing out his breath as if he had just been chased by dogs.

     Steve chews his lip. It was quiet between them for a while, the only sounds were the music, busy kitchen and the occasional sound of Bucky sipping hot coffee. Steve achingly wonders if Bucky was mad or upset with him. It was the only thing he could think since they’d basically leg-fucked each other in a public space. 

     “Ya want to get out of here? We can go to my apartment and talk or something.” Bucky queries, running a hand through his dark hair. 

       Steve was again surprised by the dark-haired pianist and his actions. He considered Bucky’s question, and knew he should say no. Knew that whatever had just happened could happen again. And what if there wasn’t a waitress to stop it? What if? The thought was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. The answer wasn’t hard to come to and always a slave to his impulses, Steve nodded.

      “Yeah. Sounds fun.”

      _What are you doing Steve?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it. If you want to shout into the Stucky void, follow me @sirsteviebarnes on tumblr.


	4. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dang I loved writing this Chapter. It has a little bit of everything in it. Minor smut, fluff and angst.

        Bucky’s apartment was located in the nicer part of Brooklyn. It was late by the time they reached it, and as Steve clamored off Bucky’s bike, he was surprised at how nice the apartment building was. The complex was new, it’s brighter colors standing put against the faded brick of those adjacent to it. Decorating the small patches of dirt out front were neatly trimmed hedges. Steve felt out of place here, it was nothing like the small, dirty alleyways he lived near.

      “It’s up on the top floor, so prepare yourself for a climb.” Bucky chuckled, bounding up the front steps and opening the door for Steve. 

      Inside the building was even more fancy looking, with a large lobby that arched high overhead and creamy white marble floors. There were various potted plants and couches decorating the space, and a woman with curly hair and bright red lips read a magazine at the main desk. 

      She began listing hotel room and rent prices, without looking up. Steve almost choked at the crazy costs, wondering how Bucky afforded such a place. When she glanced up, a passive realization entered her eyes. 

    “Oh, nevermind. You already live here.” She mumbled, and returned to her magazine. 

     As they reached the privacy of the stairwell, Bucky reached out and took Steve’s hand. His fingers were so long and defined, and they slipped comfortably between Steve’s. The grip was warm, and Steve gaped a second at their hands before following him up the steps. Steve walked slightly behind, letting himself be lead by the taller man.   
They reach a long hallway at the top, it’s expanse covered in a soft crimson carpet. Bucky leads him to the far end of the hall, to the door numbered 409. Bucky releases his hand, taking a key out of his jacket pocket and unlocking the door.

      The entire apartment was spacious, probably taking up enough room for two of Steve’s apartment. It’s lofty walls soar above, dark wooden beams crossing the ceiling. A few lamps were on, and they cast a sepia glow across the white walls. Every piece of furniture and detail accentuated the dark, masculine aura that permeated the space, arranged in perfect order as if done by a professional. In a corner next to an expansive window, sat a shiny black piano. Steve stood agape for a while, taking in the space and it’s elegance. Bucky must’ve had a lot of money, because there was no way a pianist working at a low-income bar could afford such an affluent apartment. 

     Bucky entered the space comfortably, hung his jacket on a hook, and removed his dress shoes. He then unclipped his suspenders, and untucked his shirt before loosening his collar. His gelled hair was no longer held up, it’s beautifully tousled strands falling messily to one side. Steve could barely breathe at how nice Bucky looked in a laid-back style, his entire form relaxed and comfortable in his own space. 

      Steve wished he felt as comfortable, because he stiffly remained in his jacket, clutching the messenger bag that housed his sketchbook. He hadn’t even taken off his own shoes, or moved at all since he entered the upscale apartment. 

      “Make yourself at home.” Bucky smiled, padding into the kitchen to get a drink of water.

      Steve reluctantly removed his bag, placing it on a side table under which housed Bucky’s footwear. He placed his brown shoes next to Bucky’s, which were significantly newer and more shiny. Last to go was his jacket, which he hung right next to Bucky’s. There were only two hooks, Steve noticed, and somehow their jackets looked so right hanging next to each other. It sparked feeling of familiarity and safety within Steve, who stopped to brush his fingers over the supple material of Bucky’s jacket. It smelled like Bucky, a hint of musk and leather, and Steve wondered what it would feel like to be wrapped up in the dark material. 

     “You like it?” Bucky muses, leaning against the large doorframe that led to the kitchen.   
Steve sheepishly smiled, nodding as he dropped his fingers from the jacket.

     “Don’t think it’d fit me very well.” Steve snickered, his hands nervously rubbing the back of his neck. 

    “Try it on.” Bucky offered, plucking it off it’s hook and holding it open for Steve. 

     “Y’ sure?” Steve questioned, gazing into Bucky’s gray-blue eyes.

     He nodded, shifting the material to where Steve could easily slip in. Hesitantly, the small man pushed one arm into the jacket, his small hands barely able to come out the opening. He shrugged on the rest, being swallowed by the weight and size of it.

     “It’s too big.” Steve snorts. “I look ridiculous.” He acted indignant, but secretly he loved wearing something of Bucky’s. He loved the way it smelled like him, and the way he could hide himself in the safety of it.

     Bucky’s eyes were dark, and he ran a finger ever so delicately along Steve’s jaw. The action froze Steve in place, his lips parted in an attempt to complain. Bucky stood close, to where Steve could feel the tall man’s knees bump into his smaller thighs. He gazed down into Steve’s ocean-blue eyes, his wet lips parted and brows furrowed. Attraction, confusion and so many other feelings ran indistinguishably through Steve’s head. 

      “I think you look good in my jacket.” Bucky whispers, putting an emphasis on the word _my_. 

      Steve couldn’t speak, words he wanted to say getting caught in his throat as Bucky moved closer to his face. The man’s pink lips hovered lightly over Steve’s, just barely brushing. Steve parted his own lips without thinking. He’d never kissed someone before, so when Bucky ever so lightly slotted their mouths together it was at first awkward. That faded away almost instantly as Bucky’s beautiful hands cupped Steve’s cheeks.   
A feeling of wonderful euphoria seized Steve, drawing him closer to the dark pianist. His fragile fingers clutch onto the white material of Bucky’s dress shirt before gliding up to rest on the firm muscles of his chest. 

     Bucky lets out a sigh into Steve’s mouth and his large, defined fingers find their way to Steve’s lower back. He then pulls the blond’s slight frame flush to his own body, drawing a light moan from Steve. Steve blushed immensely from that, becoming slightly embarrassed that he’d been so vocal.  
Bucky didn’t notice his blushing, and instead reacted immediately to the noise Steve released, slipping his tongue between his open lips and running fingers through his light blond hair. It felt so incredibly new, each glide of his tongue unlocking sensations Steve could never have imagined. 

     “Hmm. I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you, Stevie.” Bucky whispered against his mouth, resting his damp forehead atop Steve’s. His fingers brush lightly against Steve’s slender neck as he pulled back with a sigh. 

    Steve was flushed, his lips dark and slick. A light pink coated his cheeks, and his long, light lashes drooped over his darkened blue eyes. For a simple first kiss, it was by far one of the most amazing things Steve had ever felt.

      “Forgive me if I’m forward, but you’re so damn pretty. ” Bucky sighs, his thumb brushing over Steve’s soft bottom lip.

      Steve presses a soft kiss to his finger, forgetting for a second all inhibitions that kept him from pursuing Bucky. His words warmed Steve, who again felt that the feminine adjective he’d used was perfect coming from him. He loved the way Bucky could so effortlessly make him feel confident and good about himself, even if it was only for a moment.

       “I must’ve sucked out too much of yer air, because I don’t know what you’re seeing in me.” Steve joked, biting his lip as he gazed coquettishly up at Bucky.

     “Well, y’see, I like how strong you are, An’ yet I like how much you blush.” Bucky confesses, two of his fingers brushing over Steve’s rounded cheekbone. 

     “And I like the little beauty marks on your cheek, right here.” Bucky traces somewhere on his right cheek, almost on his jaw. 

     “And these, I loved these when I saw them peeking out of your shirt at the bar.” His fingers ghost over Steve’s sharp, defined collarbones, and along the slender column of his throat.

      The sensitive touches send electricity through Steve’s body, tingling on his spine and causing goosebumps to form on his arms. Steve felt something like a magnetism, pulling him closer to the pianist. It curled around his gut, leading him like an invisible string until he was resting against the other man’s body. 

      “I don’t know what this is.” Steve pinches his lips, his face pressed into Bucky’s warm chest. 

     He feels a hand stroking his head, delicately following the part in his blond hair. It was soothing, and suddenly Steve yawned, a wave of exhaustion hitting him. 

     “I don’t either. Maybe we don’t have to.” Bucky admits, his deep voice vibrating through his chest. It felt good against Steve’s head, and the image of laying against his body, listening to his voice for hours suddenly struck him with a strong yearning.

     “You tired Steve?” Bucky queries when he yawns yet again. 

      “Yeah.” Steve feels a strong sense of loss at the thought of leaving Bucky.

      But he knew that whatever they were should’ve stopped at the diner, and he’d been selfish and wanted more from Bucky. He was being unfair to him, leading him on even though Steve knew nothing good would come of it. He had to end what they had started, before they would come to regret it.

     “I should get back to my apartment.” Steve barely managed to say, his throat tight.

     He took a step back, rubbing his wet eyes as if the tears were just from his exhaustion. With sad resignation, he removed Bucky’s jacket, feeling a bit cold in more than a physical way when he hung it up.

    “Listen Steve, it’s late and I’ve got plenty of room. I can take the couch. If you want, you can sleep here. I understand, though if you’d rather sleep in your own bed.” Bucky offers, his arm motioning to the spacious rooms. 

    Steve always had problems hiding his emotions, it was like his small frame couldn’t hold them in so they bled out into his actions and expressions. Just the thought that Bucky wanted him to spend the night had him pinching his brow together while simultaneously wanting to smile. It hurt, it was a deep indecisive pain within his chest when he considered staying, but Steve always followed his impulses. They told him to be selfish for once, to just stay because damn it, he deserved five seconds to be happy. 

      Steve thought about it rationally, and tried to pretend his final decision was based in being practical, that they lived pretty far away from each other. But Steve knew damn well there was more than just practicality when it came to why he decided to stay. 

      “Yes, thank you. I was not really looking forward to the ride home.” Steve huffs, his eyebrows raised in a humorous attempt to diffuse some of his own awkwardness.

    Bucky smiles demurely, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He looked so pure, and so good to Steve, who’d only ever seen the bad in himself. God, why does he have to look so beautiful? Why can’t I just stay away? Steve felt so at war, his entire being fighting itself over the amazing man who so openly accepted and even wanted Steve.

     “Here, I’ll grab some blankets. You can take the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch. Probably better that way.” Bucky speaks over his shoulder as he walks to a hallway closet and begins rummaging through the neat stacks of towels and blankets.

     He selects a soft blue comforter, dragging its length out of the closet and lugging it to the couch. It looked heavy, but Bucky held it as if it weighed nothing. 

    “C’mere. I’ll show ya the bedroom.” Bucky commands, lightly tapping Steve’s shoulder. The touch was soft, but Steve felt it tear into his heart. 

    He couldn’t like this man. He just couldn’t, and every second he spent pretending it would work was both torture and ecstasy to Steve.

      Steve followed Bucky down the dark hallway, wishing he had gone home. It’d be easier to forget him that way. Easier to put away the feelings he wasn’t ready to accept for Bucky. 

     Bucky pushed open the slightly ajar bedroom door, the dark oak creaking quietly as they entered. The hardwood floor was covered almost completely with a large area rug. Sitting a little off-center in the room was a large bed, draped in plenty of pillows and a dark grey comforter. It looked comfortable, and so very Bucky that it made Steve feel giddy.

      On the stand adjacent to the bed was a lamp and a few science fiction novels. The discovery that he read, and more specifically that he read something as uncool as science fiction warmed Steve, who tried to ignore the ball of apprehension that sometimes formed when he felt close to his newfound friend.   
Scattered on a desk in the corner of the room were pens and thousands of pages of sheet music. They all had handwritten notes on them, with scribbles on the sides. Journals were stacked off to the side, pages thick with notes and other things Steve couldn’t make out. It was such a small space, yet it seemed to be the most used, with vague outlines of a chair being moved on the floor, and rubbed away gloss on the wooden desk. It was amazing, and for a second, Steve imagined laying across the bed, listening to Bucky hum out pieces he composed just for Steve. The image faded, but it left a dull twinge, a reminder of something Steve could never have.

       Steve glanced at the bed again, noticing a discolored brown pillow, that promptly moved. The movement startled Steve, who almost gasped before realizing it was a huge cat.

      “Peanut. My best gal.” Bucky coos, sidling up to the feline and eliciting a meow when he stroked her fluffy back. 

    Bucky wasn’t lying when he said she was huge. From tail-tip to nose she covered the width of the bed, her body a flattened, fluffy mass. She was mostly reddish-brown in color, with dark stripes, and a white chest and paws. Her gold colored eyes had a slanted shape that made her look perpetually angry. 

     Steve joined Bucky, hovering close against the edge of the bed. 

    “She doesn’t bite.” Bucky smiles at him, noticing that Steve was staring at the cat.

     He hesitantly reaches out his hand, and pets the top of Peanut’s head. She purrs lightly, stretching out her claws into the bed. 

     “She’s pretty, but kinda angry looking.” Steve chuckles, scratching behind the cat’s ear.

    “Sounds like the first time I saw you.” Bucky bumps his shoulder lightly into Steve’s.

     The veiled compliment made Steve laugh, taking it as if it were just a joke, and nothing more. Steve wasn’t stupid though, he knew it was an attempt by Bucky to open him up, to unlock the emotions he closed off suddenly.

    “Okay Pea, it’s time to get down. Steve here’s got to go to sleep, you bed hog.” Bucky shooed the cat away, who lashed her tail and took off towards the living room. 

     “There ya go. The bed’s pretty comfortable. If you need anything, I’ll be out on the couch.” Bucky started for the door, and on impulse Steve called after him. 

     He was raised by Sarah Rogers, and he’d be damned if he ever let her down by taking a host’s bed. She’d probably drop down from heaven and beat him if he didn’t at least offer Bucky the bed.

     “I can sleep on the couch, Buck. I don’t want to just come in and take your bed.” Steve licks his lips, his fingers playing with the rumpled cotton of his dress shirt. He felt brave for offering it, even if he was nervous.

     “No. There’s no way I’d let you take the couch. You’re a guest.” Bucky’s eyebrows furrow in a determined manner. 

      “Exactly, I’m a guest. So you can have the bed.” Steve purses his lips, his fiery personality showing through. 

     “Or…. we can share it. I don’t know about you, but I’ve shared beds since I was a kid. I don’t mind. But you’re not sleeping on the couch.” Bucky’s arms cross with finality, the muscles of his forearms bulging handsomely.

     “I… don’t.” Steve begins to panic, the bed sharing becoming a possibility for something to happen that just shouldn’t. With a deep breath, he calms down. _You’ve shared beds with boys before. This is barely any different. Treat it that way._ Steve scolds himself. “Sure. It’s kind of like a sleep over right? I’ve shared beds, you’ve shared beds. No problem.” Steve nods, feeling confident in himself that there was nothing that would happen. 

      “Exactly like a sleep over. I call the right side then.” Bucky gives a reassuring smile, his eyes warm in the pale lamp-light.

     Without another word, Bucky begins to undress. He sheds his shirt, tossing it in a hamper before doing the same with his socks. Steve looked away, ignoring how good the muscular man looked in his undershirt, with his arms strong and thick, tapering from broad shoulders. He felt the small vibrations from Bucky walking away, but he didn’t turn to look. The sound of a drawer being opened is heard, and then something lands directly next to Steve. 

      He looked down to see a pair of pajama pants and a small tank top on the bed. The bottoms were soft, and a checkered grey and blue. The tank top was a simple pale blue, lined and stretchy.

     “Those are the smallest pair I’ve got. I didn’t think you wanted to wear those to bed.” Bucky motions to Steve’s clothes, which Steve realized he didn’t really want to wear to sleep. “The bathroom’s down the hall if you want to change there, or here. You don’t need to worry about me peekin’” Bucky says, his hands perched on his hips.

     Steve wasn’t entirely comfortable changing in front of Bucky just yet, so he opted for the bathroom. Scooping up the clothes, he walked out of the bedroom and into the hallway. It wasn’t hard to find the bathroom, and as he flicked on the light, an odd sense of clearness came over him. The light above the mirror was dull, but it helped Steve see when he washed his face and hands. His blue eyes stared back condemningly at himself, a reminder that what he was doing would only end in pain. Selfishly, he didn’t care. The thought of being close to someone filled him with a deep longing, one that he never realized he had until Bucky came into his life. 

      He shook his head, breathing a few times before taking off his clothes. He changed quickly, avoiding looking at himself in the mirror. He’d only ever see sallow pale flesh, knobby joints and the repetitive lines of his ribs peeking out under the milky skin of his chest. Even as he faced away from the mirror, he could see the bumps of his spine when he bent to pull up the pants. Surely if Bucky ever saw him, really saw him, he’d be disgusted.

     Once he was dressed, he adjusted the fit as best as he could. The tank top was a bit loose, but it fit better than the bottoms, which he had to roll up to fit his short legs and skinny hips. He neatly folded his own pants and shirt and carried them under his arm back to the room.

      The sense of calm and rationality completely faded when he walked through the bedroom doorway. Bucky was lain across the bed, shirtless and only in low-strung bottoms. His hair was messy, falling over his forehead and shadowing his dark eyes. The light from a side table lamp made his skin seem to glow, and every defined muscle was highlighted with a pale sheen. Releasing a heavy, almost sensual sigh, he stretched, arching his back and making himself comfortable. The lines of his abdomen and chest were taut, formed from hard muscle and glorious olive skin. The sight caused a particular feeling in Steve’s gut, one that seemed only to appear for Bucky. 

       Shifting the folded clothes under his arm to cover the possible bulge in his pajama bottoms, Steve made his way over to the bed. Stiffly, he dropped them next to the lamp atop the side table, and climbed under the blankets before Bucky could say a word.   
He switches off the lamp, quickly darting out of the blankets and back under like a turtle.

      The room shifts to almost total darkness and silence but Steve couldn’t stop staring into space, listening to the light breathing of Bucky next to him. A few moments later the bigger man shifted, pulling the blankets out from under himself and then joining Steve beneath the soft fabric. He didn’t say anything, and neither did Steve. There was so much to be said that was wasted with silence. But neither were ready to bear what could happen if they spoke up. So they stayed silent, time stretching into eons and back until it felt like they were laying for an eternity.

      He didn’t want to feel for Bucky the way he did. It tore at him, because he could never look at Bucky as only a friend. Even if they decided to stop whatever it was they were doing, Steve would always remember the way Bucky kissed him. The way the man made him feel, like he was flying and falling at the same time. Years in the future he’d remember, even as time seized the last of his memory, the last of himself, he’d remember James Buchanan Barnes.

      His eyes close, finally succumbing to the exhaustion that had plagued him. The soft breaths heard next to him were calming. They lulled him to sleep, the continuous in and out like a slow heartbeat tying the two men together.

     There was a light shift in the weight next to him, and suddenly a warm body was pressed against him, and a heavy arm wrapped around his slim waist. 

     “What’re you…?” Steve whispers groggily. 

    “Shh. Just sleep Stevie.” Bucky whispers back. 

     In the darkness, Steve feels Bucky nuzzle his cheek. They were so close, their breathing matched so entirely it was like they were one. And Steve ached with a feeling beyond anything he’d ever experienced before. Turning to face the warm man, Steve snuggles into his chest. Muscled arms hold him close, and yet so delicately. Like he was the most precious thing in the world. Steve’s thighs part, entangling with Bucky’s legs until they were flush, and no space separated them.

    Bucky felt like safety, and warmth. When he was close it was like nothing could ever hurt Steve, like they had their own perfect little bubble they could stay in forever. In his sleepy haze, Steve realized Bucky felt like something he hadn’t felt in years, since his mother died. He felt like something Steve’s apartment never could.

     Bucky felt like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find me on tumblr @sirsteviebarnes


	5. Chapter 5- Running

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day late, but here's some angst for you.

       The smell of pancakes cooking wafted through the bedroom door when Steve roused the next morning. Pale morning sunlight filtered through the wind-ruffled dark curtains, specks of dust floating through the shivering gray beams. Steve blinked his fuzzy eyes, finding the bed next to him empty. The sheets and blankets were messy, wrapped around his slim waist and falling off the mattress.   
     

     It was, at first, a disappointment that Bucky wasn’t there, but as Steve lay facing the ceiling and rubbing sleep from his eyes, he assumed it was for the best. If he saw Bucky all messy and blushing from sleep, his eyes crinkled and mouth parted in a drowsy smile, he just might never leave the bed. 

      Steve lazily shifts out of the comforter, sitting up to hang his legs over the edge of the bed. With a sigh, he rests his elbows on his knees, splaying his fingers delicately over his eyes. 

       A ball of dread replaces the fuzzy warmth in his chest. The night before was all wrong, it had to be, because things like that just didn’t happen to Steve. He knew the entire time that it was wrong, and yet he punished himself with Bucky, who was only ever kind and deserved so much more than Steve using him. 

      Making up his mind, Steve determined that he had to put a stop to whatever had grown between them. Steve was an introspective man, he knew that he’d played himself with Bucky. That he’d gotten so caught up in feeling wanted that he didn’t listen to his intuition. Bucky was handsome, Steve would say perfect in every way, which was why they would never work out. Men like Steve and Bucky don’t end up together, they don’t get a happy ending.

     Swallowing a lump in his throat, Steve clamors off the bed, realizing by the small clock on Bucky’s nightstand that it was almost 7:30.

       With aching slowness, he began to tear off the large clothes he wore, struggling and tripping over the unrolled pajama pants. He hit his elbow on the wall, and somehow managed to knee the side of the bed before he was unclothed. Every pain was worth it though, every second an escape from wince-inducing thoughts of Bucky. In a way it was to prolong the inevitable goodbye that Steve would have to make. 

      Quickly redressing himself in the clothes he’d worn the day before, he padded swiftly to the bathroom to wash up as best as he could. 

      The water running through his fingers felt comforting, and with it he slicked his hair to the side, the liquid cool on his scalp. Again he found himself staring back into his own gaze, the azure depths showing unflinching judgement. He had used Bucky, in a way, and he’d never forgive himself for it. For leading Bucky on, and pretending things could work for even a second. He’d been selfish, caught up in the way Bucky made him feel, and the consequences were never considered.  
Switching off the bathroom light, and resigning himself to his own fate, Steve approached the kitchen where he heard Bucky moving.

      The brunet was still in his pajama pants, but he’d put on a shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and muscles perfectly. He busied himself above the stove, expertly flipping a pancake and humming a soft tune to himself. He looked so comfortable and happy. It felt like a punch to Steve’s chest. 

     Something alerted him to Steve’s presence, and he turned with a sweet smile. His eyes were so bright, they seemed to light up the world around Steve, and yet threatened to burn him.   
   

       “Good morning, Stevie. I made you some pancakes, I know you like ‘em” His gray gaze was proud, and yet so heartbreaking.

     Steve panics, every moment of their short lived escape replaying in his head. He could still feel the passionate and tender kiss they shared, and being so close at night, smelling each other’s scent as they breathed as one. He formed words of departure in his mind, ways to say goodbye with finality. All fell short in expressing how he felt. 

      “Thanks, especially for letting me sleep here. But… uh. I’ve gotta get to work.” _That was a lie._  Steve barely managed to get the words out before he felt like taking them back.

      Bucky’s smile falters, and he lowers the spatula he held. His lips pinch, and with a nod, he turns off the stove. The pancakes smelled amazing, and all Steve wanted to do was stay, but it was no longer about what he wanted. It was about what kept them both safe. 

    “Steve, about last night. I just wanna say…” Bucky begins, walking around the kitchen island to stand close to him. Steve panics as he gets close, smelling of pancakes and his own unique scent. 

          _You don’t even know how much I want this. How much I want you_. Steve’s throat bobs, almost preventing him from speaking.

      “It’s fine. We don’t even need to talk about it.” Steve cuts him off, readying himself to tell Bucky he wasn’t going to see him anymore.

     “That’s the thing, we do. Y’see I really like you. And I wanna get to know you. We could..” Bucky tries to talk again, his brow pinched.

     He looked so lost, his gray eyes searching and full of longing. It made Steve feel so horrible that he had made his face like that. He had made Bucky look and feel anything less than perfect. But it was necessary, at least that’s what Steve told himself. 

     “We can’t, you know. We’re just… I have to go to work.” Steve doesn’t finish telling Bucky they were over, so instead he lied again. Told him he was going to work, again. He just couldn’t say goodbye, he realizes. The finality was too much, the thought of never hearing Bucky laugh again made his chest hurt and feel like he was going to have an asthma attack. 

     Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he faced away from Bucky, marching for the door before he could turn around and kiss the pain off of Bucky’s handsome face.

    “Steve! Do you need a ride? I can…” Bucky calls after him, stuck to his spot on the carpet.

    “No. I’m fine, Bucky.” Steve says without turning to look at him. Plucking his jacket off of it’s hanger and slipping on his shoes haphazardly, he opens the door and steps into the vacant, cold hallway.

     He barely heard Bucky call his name one last time before he shuts the door behind himself. The way he said it would stay with Steve forever, the pleading recital of his name laced with pain and confusion. Tears were now falling from his eyes, pouring over his burning cheeks and falling onto his crinkled white shirt. Choked sobs shook his small body as he stumbled down the hallway, reaching the stairwell before he collapsed to the ground. He covers his face, his chest stuttering as it attempted to get enough air. Asthma strained his breaths, which came in gasped staccato bursts. Trembling, he sobs so quiet it was barely above a whisper. He rarely could help when an attack occurred, and in that moment he felt like he should just let his breath be strangled out of him. Eventually, his instincts kicked in and he choked in a few puffs of air, the wind making a sharp sound as it pushed through his blocked airways. Nausea seizes him, and he falls forward, his hand shivering as it hovers over his mouth. 

      How could he have let all of this happen? A little less than a week ago he’d been empty, but fine. And yet, suffering alone now seemed so much better than the uncertainty that was his and Bucky’s relationship.   
The man never left his thoughts, constantly returning through images of his sweet smile and perfect face, and the pained imaginings of life they could have. Even as he sat alone in the closed off stairwell, his breathing echoing in the shadowed enclosure, he couldn’t stop thinking about Bucky Barnes. 

      Sniffling, he rubs his sleeve over his nose, the material scratchy and of poor quality. Standing, his legs trembled and threatened to buckle as he took a step down. His sobs had lessened and his breath no longer felt like it was tearing through his throat, but the nausea remained. It felt as if someone had stuck a dagger into his gut and twisted, pulling out some part of him he never knew he’d miss. 

     It suddenly hit him that he lied to Bucky, and that tore up his heart and stomach, the feeling like glass under his sensitive skin. He hadn’t lied to anyone like that before. It went against his very nature, and yet he panicked and it had happened, and not just to anyone. He had lied to Bucky, the first person to see him as something more than a friend.

      _It doesn’t matter anyway, Bucky’s better off without me. I just have to keep my distance and Bucky will find a pretty dame to settle down with._ Steve pushes away his guilt, furiously rubbing his eyes to stop any more tears from escaping.

    Steve pinched his lips bitterly, ignoring how much he wanted to turn back with each step he descended. He’d just have to stay alone, which he wouldn’t normally be bothered too much by, but the thought of Bucky making pancakes and holding him at night niggles it’s way into his mind. How he wished that could be everyday. But it couldn’t, and he was doing the right thing about it.

    _Is this the right decision…?_

      Steve reaches the doors leading out of the building, his hand gripping the cold metal handle. Once outside, cool morning air fills his lungs, pleasing and calming. The moment of serenity lasts for a second before he breaks into a run. His chest heaves and he knew he shouldn’t be running. But that’s all he could think to do, was run. Run away from Bucky and into the busy morning streets. 

         _It is right. It has to be, because you know you can’t handle it otherwise_.

                    . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

        Almost an hour and a half later Steve finds himself gasping on Vi’s blue flower patterned couch. He held a soft green throw pillow close to his chest, the pressure comforting against his heaving ribs. Blond brows furrow as he catches his breath, following his mad run through the winding streets of Brooklyn. He’d arrived distraught, sweaty and unable to bear being alone thinking of Bucky. Vi had taken him in quickly, without question and after noticing his red face and puffy complexion, she’d ordered him to rest on the couch. He didn’t mention that he’d ran more than a couple miles through Brooklyn to get to her apartment from Bucky’s. If she knew that, she’d probably beat him and then find a way to do the same to Bucky.

        He thought of ways to explain his situation without telling Vi exactly what happened. For the moment, she was busy in the kitchen, making him black tea with mint, which she’d only ever made when he was either sick or upset. This time, it at least gave him a chance to think of something to say.   
Even though he’d lied to Bucky, which he still felt horrible about, he wasn’t the type of person to lie to someone he cared about. But no matter what way he worded it, his encounters with Bucky couldn’t be taken any other way than incriminating. 

      She finishes steeping the tea, and pours a steady stream into a novelty Christmas mug. Vi then pads over to him, settling the cup of warm tea into his hands and taking a seat next to him. The brown-tinted liquid smells of mint, warm steam curling from the rippling surface of the tea. Steve briefly tries to get lost in it, each breath he exudes causing another tremor across the small surface of the water.

      “Hey. What’s going on?” Vi breaks into his trance, her eyes worried and lips pinched into a thin, uneven line.

     “A guy can’t go for a morning run with no explanation?” Steve attempts to diffuse some of the seriousness, his lips curling into a smile as he took a sip of the tea, which was a bit too hot to drink. 

        He didn’t really know why he had tried to joke, but Vi wasn’t stupid and she knew him better than anyone else. Her jaw clenches, and immediately her whole face changes, forming the “mom look” Steve dreaded.

     “Don’t try to avoid my question Steve. You were about ready to die from an asthma attack when you got here and you were clearly upset. I am not taking this joking shit, so you better answer me or I’m gonna hang you up by your toes.” While she had mentioned the humorous threat so often used when she scolded him, her eyes were stern and unflinching.

     Steve remained quiet, suddenly becoming interested in his tea again. He had no idea what to say to her. Either he admitted what had happened and risks Vi telling someone, or he lies which was an equally horrible outcome. He hears her sigh, and as he glanced over, she was running a hand through her messy hair. 

     “This has something to do with James doesn’t it?” Vi gazes at him, her eyes seeming to tear right through him and expose every hidden feeling he kept for Bucky.

     He felt like he was going to throw up. _How does she know? Was I that obvious? What if someone else saw and they’re coming to take me to jail for being queer? What if they already have Bucky?_  Fears ran rampant through his mind, flashing through his blue eyes like shadows as they darted around. Luckily he’d set down his tea because it would’ve spilled when his fingers become limp and his entire body freezes in fear at what she might say next.

      “Steve, is it about him? Did he hurt you? Please, talk to me. You know I won’t judge you, no matter what happened.” She rests a soft hand on top of his, which had begun to tremble slightly. Her eyes were dark, drawn in concern like her plush lips. 

     Before he could think of a convincing lie, words were tumbling out of his mouth, laying bear his naked heart to the one person he had trusted since childhood.

    “He didn’t hurt me Vi. He’d never… hurt me.” Tears begin to bead in his eyes, some falling down the pale skin of his face. _Goddamn am I ever going to stop crying?_

    His vision was blurry, not that his gaze ever left his lap. With a deep sigh, Vi pulls him against her chest with heavy worker’s arms, brushing his hair softly as he shook with silent tears.

       “I was so stupid Vi. He just made me feel so high... an’ let him. I let him because I liked feeling wanted. I put me an’ him in danger because I couldn’t get him outta my head.” His words made little sense to Vi, but she caught on quick and repeated in a low whisper _It’s okay._

        “He kissed me Vi, on the lips. And I liked it. I liked it so much I wanted him to keep doing it. And we slept together.” He feels a sharp intake of breath Vi tries to hide. “Not in a man and wife way. But he just… held me... and I felt so safe. He made me feel things I never felt for any girl. I’m sick, aren’t I? Sick because I want him so bad it feels like my chest is gonna burst.” Steve bites his lip angrily, slim body shaking as he tries to hate himself, and Bucky. No hatred came, only tiredness and resignation.

       Vi breaths softly into his hair, her words rumbling in her chest below his ear.

      “You are not sick, y’hear me? Yer perfect as you are, and anyone who thinks otherwise is an idiot. You’re so strong, and more handsome than you think, even if you can be stupid sometimes.” That draws a weak laugh from Steve. 

     “I don’t care who you like, as long as you’re a good person. And yer the best guy I know.” She pauses, and in a softer voice, continues. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I know it’s dangerous and people don’t see things like I do. But you’re safe with me, and if Bucky likes you back then he is too.” She’s silent for a while, and Steve feels the heavy pressure in his chest loosen ever so slightly. 

    “You’re kinda the best person. You know that?” Steve gives her a brief hug before pulling away to wipe his eyes.

     They sat close, and continue talking despite the sensitive subject. Steve couldn’t believe the lack of judgement on her part, he was barely holding on and she just talked calmly with kind eyes.

    “So he wants to be with you? He said so?” Vi questions, her eyebrows raised as a reassuring smile shaped her lips.

   “He tried, as I was on my way out. Hell, I lied to him Vi. He wanted me to stay for breakfast, and I wanted to. But it told him I had work even though I didn’t and I just left. He looked so good Vi, he had such proud eyes because he knew I liked pancakes and he made me some.” Steve’s gaze was wistful for a second, his lips breaking into a half-smile before a shadowed look returned. “I just couldn’t stay there, with him like that. I don’t want to risk his life because I can’t control myself. He’ll find a girl and forget about me. It’s just… how it’s gotta be.” Steve reaches for his tea, which had cooled down and took a sip so he didn’t have to talk anymore.

     “Why’s it gotta be that way, Steve? You like him. And I doubt he’d ever be able to forget you. I saw how he looked at you watching him play the piano, those puppy dog eyes were focused right on your baby blues. You know what Steve? You’ve been happier than I’ve ever seen you.” She looked confused, and maybe a little sad. “You’ve always been a fighter. Why aren’t you fighting for this? I’ve never ever seen you give up this easy.”

     Steve was taken aback by her sudden attitude change. She had seemed so consoling, and now she was questioning him. Normally it wouldn’t bother him, but he didn’t want to be reminded he could be making the wrong choice. It was too much for himself to be wondering why, let alone his closest friend.

      “It’s just… I don’t know Vi. I really don’t. I want Bucky, but I don’t think it’ll work out.” Steve didn’t feel like talking anymore, but a pressure had been lifted from his chest, one that had begin weighting him when he met Bucky. Someone knew, and that someone was his best friend, who believed in him. 

     “You won’t know if you don’t try. All you gotta do is be safe, watch your back. I’ll help in anyway I can, since seeing ya happy, makes me happy.” Her words warmed Steve, yet carried the thought of a dangerous leap into the unknown.

      “Thanks Vi.” Clarity returned to Steve, shaking away some of his nervousness and allowing him to breath steady for the first time in over an hour.

     It wasn’t going to be easy, but Steve decided that staying way from Bucky was the best option. Even though Steve wanted to believe Vi, and hope that it would work out, he knew better. Things like that just didn’t happen to Steve, and the more he thought about it, the more he was sure he was making the right decision. After all, how hard could it be to return to his normal life?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the sadness. As always, you can find me on tumblr @sirsteviebarnes


	6. Duality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve figures out just how hard resisting Bucky really is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's that eventual smut I promised, and sadly, a week late. But as things do, they get in the way and I wasn't able to write often. Well, enjoy some loving courtesy of me.

        Almost a week and a half later Steve still felt horrible. While resuming his regular life was easier than he expected, he still felt an ache where Bucky used to be. Normally he’d scribble out his feelings in his book, darkly outlining a figure or a still life until he managed to calm down, but he’d left his sketchbook at Bucky’s and wasn’t about to embark on an emotional journey just to get it.

      Steve was actually at the gallery that morning, working tirelessly on his portfolio in the back. His boss, after months of Steve working and organizing events, was finally going to take a look at his portfolio and consider it a submission for the upcoming Spring show. It was the break that he needed to finally get his art out there. And nothing was stopping him.

      That was, nothing except his asthma, which had gotten worse with the change in seasons. Every so often, he’d have to stop his work and brave through a bad coughing fit before being able to return to his art. It was aching, frustrating work, and half the time Steve felt like screaming and throwing his red chalk stump across the room.

      It took him a while to find a groove with his sketching, moving swiftly between bouts of coughing and detailing the sharp lines of a male figure. The man was hunched, the lines of his body distorted from the position, but Steve had always found it easy to pose people in his mind and draw them out from his imagination. When it can to detailing the face, Steve was unsure as to who he wanted to look like. Maybe a popular musician or actor? He decided to wing it, and just make up the face as he went along. Of course, it’s finished face looked like a certain piano player her knew, and he ended up giving him long, dark hair to cover up most of his face. 

     Breathing out a sigh, Steve climbs off his stool and hobbles to the sink in the far back. His legs ached from being kept under himself for so long, but they felt good to be stretched, even for a small walk. The knob screeched as Steve turned the water on, whining at the release of water pressure. Pale red, black and white chalk blended together in the palm of his hand and then washed away down the sink. He scrubbed with a small bar of soap, getting the remaining color out of his fingertips. 

      He turns off the water, drying his hands on his pants and looking over the five pieces he had to show Mr. Reeves. There were two canvases, one a face painted with muddied, blocked strokes and the the other a highly realistic oil painting of his mother smiling. It caused a twinge in his chest, but also a warm feeling as he remembered spending time with her. The last three pieces were, respectively, his chalk figure sketches on toned tan paper, an acrylic painting of woman sitting at a diner, and a large India ink painting of someone who looked suspiciously like Bucky draped in cloth, head thrown back and throat exposed. 

      While the last piece was somewhat sexually charged, Steve believed he had a really good selection of his to show his boss. Mr. Reeves was a busy, constantly distracted man, but he kept his word and that was good enough hope for Steve that he’d finally get somewhere with his art. 

        Smiling softly to himself, he carefully stores his art pieces, thankful that his boss often let him use the back for his work. Once his art was put away, he grabs his jacket off the coat rack next to the door, and shrugs it on. The material felt hot indoors, but already the morning was chilly, and he expected to be walking all the way back to his apartment.

      Unlike the pre-dawn darkness that greeted him when he arrived at the gallery, the sun was shining, peeking out from behind the city buildings as he left. Yet, as warm as the sun was, the chilly air completely circumvented it, forcing him to stuff his hands in his pockets as soon as he’d locked the door behind him. 

     A few people were out, but for the most part Steve remained alone, walking slowly through the streets as the occasional car puttered by. When a puff of acrid exhaust comes in his direction, he is immediately thrown into a coughing fit. 

      His chest seizes, throat struggling to breathe in air and thrust out the irritation that caused the reaction. His asthma had gotten worse, so much that he almost falls over trying to expel his lungs, and leans against the brick of a nearby building. His body is wracked with sharp coughs, spittle coating his bottom lip as his fingers clutch onto his chest. 

     Just as he felt like he was about faint, with his face blown red and tears in his eyes from straining, a hand guides him to a nearby alleyway. He wasn’t able to look at who it was, but the answer wasn’t hard to figure out when they wrapped their arms around Steve and brushed soft circles into his back, steadying his breathing. 

       “Shhh. Just breath okay? In, n’ out. In, n’ out.” Bucky’s voice was soothing, managing to at least stop Steve from coughing.

      As he wheezed, sucking in hopeful breaths, he glances at Bucky. The brunet of course looked perfect, dark hair slicked to the side, clothed in his leather jacket and nice dress shoes. His handsome face formed a look of concern, and his elegant fingers stroked softly onto his back.

      His eyes then wander across the alleyway that he was taken into. The narrow space was protected on one side by a mountain of trashcans, newspapers strewn haphazardly across the concrete. The other side, which Bucky had led him through, was blocked by a tall, thin wooden fence. The entire space was thankfully secluded, allowing Steve to somewhat relax from the fear of being caught so close to Bucky. 

     “What’re you…cough.. doing here, Bucky?” Steve asks, pulling away from his warm embrace.

     His brows furrow, looking something close to annoyed at Steve. With force almost unnecessary, he thrusts something into Steve’s arms. Looking down, Steve realizes it was his sketchbook, and another, newer one, leather-bound and probably expensive. 

      “Thought you’d be more excited to see me, since you’ve avoided me for a week.” He rolls his eyes then, brows raised in annoyance. “Anyway, you said you worked at a gallery, an’ it wasn’t that hard to find you to return yer sketchbook. And you were almost outta space in yer old one so I got you another. I hope you enjoy them.” With that, he turned on his heel and began to leave the quiet sanctuary of the alley. 

        “Wait! Bucky, m’sorry I ran out on you like that.” Steve attempts to apologize, gripping one of Bucky’s broad shoulders from behind. The man stops in his tracks, body tense and coiled as if Steve had just slapped him. 

      “I really am sorry. I shoulda just said how I felt and instead I left ya. But this is just how it’s gotta be Bucky. What we did… it ain’t right.” Steve tries desperately to convince Bucky, who faces away from him. He prays for him to turn around, to say something, anything. His next reaction left Steve going against his earlier prayers, he’d much rather be ignored than to have Bucky’s look of steely-eyed disappointment focused on him. 

      "Who says it’s gotta be that way, huh? You? God? I’ve had enough of people telling me who I can and can’t love and you don’t have any right to be one of them.” Bucky turns on him, for the first time angry in front of Steve. His words were hissed and quiet, obviously fearful of prying ears.

     “Bucky… I don’t.” Steve starts, trying desperately to ignore that Bucky had said love. His hand comes to rest on the crook of Bucky’s arm, who shrugs away from the touch, licking his lips and looking at anything but the slim blond in front of him.

      “You don’t what Steve? You don’t like me? You don’t want me?” He spits the word want out as if it were a bitter taste. “Why did you kiss me back then? Why did you act like you cared if you were disgusted by me?” Bucky swallows, his hands carding through the dark tresses on his head.

      Steve’s lips parted, wanting to say something but not knowing what could possibly be enough to fix whatever this was. His silence was taken negatively by Bucky, who turns around, both hands rubbing his face. When Steve glimpsed his eyes through the holes in his fingers, they were red. Not crying, but obviously upset.

     “You know what? If ya don’t want me, then just say it now. Tell me... and I’ll walk away without another word.” Bucky’s words rung with finality, and shattered all assuredness that Steve had managed to obtain during the week away from Bucky.

      He felt like he was splitting apart, being pulled into the gravity of Bucky’s embrace and yet towards the safety of being alone. He breathes deeply, chest attempting to resist another attack. Bucky looks at him, time slowing as their eyes clash like an ocean against gray stone. The moment seems suspended, every second ticking by as if it was caught in the intensity of their gaze.

      Time suddenly springs forward, moving too fast as their lips crash together. The action surprises Steve, even though he’d felt himself rush forward to meet Bucky’s lips with equal fervor. They were a mess of hands and teeth and tongues, touching each other as if it was that last time they’d ever be able to. Steve feels his back strike the brick wall of the alley, and he releases a gasp into Bucky’s mouth, his slender hands gripping tightly onto the dark waves of Bucky’s hair. The taller man felt warm, his thigh pressed tightly in between Steve’s legs as he roughly kissed up the exposed skin of his neck.

     A particular nibble was almost too hard, drawing out a gasp from Steve as Bucky’s teeth tugged at the skin of his throat. The man’s hands held roughly onto Steve’s slim arms, keeping him pressed against the wall as if to prevent him from running away again.

      “I missed you... so fuckin’ much. I can’t stop thinking about you.” Bucky mumbles between placing kisses on his collarbones. “Ya can’t leave me like that again, Stevie. You scared me half to death.” He releases his tight grip on Steve, his hands rising to cup the blond’s cheeks as he places a soft, lingering kiss on his pink lips. 

       “I missed you too. M’sorry I left. I’m so sorry, Bucky.” Steve sighs as Bucky rests his damp forehead against his own. He still felt apprehensive, but this time he no longer felt sick thinking of a secret life with Bucky, he felt an all-consuming bubble of warm hope in his gut.

     “You don’t gotta be afraid as long as you’re with me. No one’s gotta know, and we can have this. Stevie….” He grips softly onto his, jaw, tilting the smaller man’s face to look up into his eyes. “We can have this.” 

      Steve’s eyes begin to water, and he drags the man into another yearning kiss before drawing back to whisper out three fateful words. They ring in the air between them, burning like electricity in the space that kept them apart. 

     “I want you.” 

                         * * * * * * * * * *

       Steve couldn’t remember getting back to his apartment. The short walk from the Gallery drifted away on hazy thoughts as Bucky mouthed kisses along his throat, gripping one of Steve’s slender thighs around his waist. Soft, barely audible moans escaped his pink lips, his long, artist fingers finding Bucky’s hair and slipping through the dark waves. He feels Bucky smile against the skin of his neck, and place a few kisses there before dropping to his knees, and fumbling with the buckle on Steve’s oversized trousers. 

     He finally gets the belt unclasped, and drags the pants from the back, his fingers sliding against the blond’s ass, until the tan material was gathered around his knees. All that separated Steve’s cock and Bucky’s hungry gaze was the tented material of his underwear. It left the gasping man feeling quite vulnerable, and as Bucky’s fingers dipped into the waistband, it suddenly became all too real, and Steve had to steady Bucky’s shaky, lustful grasp on his underwear. His fingers gripped lightly onto Bucky’s larger hands, and he pants heavily, blue eyes gazing into gray as the other man looks up at him. 

       “You okay?” Bucky questions, his brows drawing close to look at him with concern. 

     “Yeah. M’good. I just needed a breath.” He nods, brushing his fingers over the stubbled skin of Bucky’s jaw. 

     It was at least partially true, seeing as how his asthma had strained his lungs when they kissed. The other part remained that Steve was a virgin, his only experience being the few times he’d gotten too excited to find release, stroking himself until he came on the dingy tiles of his shower.

     “Hmmm, if that’s the case, I’m gonna suck you off. That good?” Bucky mumbles, looking up under dark lashes and licking his lips, knowing exactly what that look did to Steve. The blond just nods, his bottom lip captured by his teeth as he tried not to tremble at the thought.

      “Stevie, I’m gonna need words. D’ya want me to suck your cock?.... Want me to take you in, slide my tongue all over ya? Maybe I’ll even swallow you down, all the way back, let you fuck my mouth nice n’ dirty? You want that babydoll?” He breathes close, the warm air ghosting over Steve’s throbbing erection. 

       Steve’s cock twitches, a bead of precome dampening the white fabric of his underwear. His brow furrows, looking down at Bucky with lips parted in a silent, begging moan. Bucky’s words were beyond anything he’d ever heard, each huskily uttered syllable making Steve feel like he could come just from the filthy things Bucky was saying. 

       “Yes. Bucky, please. Just do it.” Steve gasps, head falling back to touch the door he’d cried against a few weeks, after meeting Bucky. Ironic that he was getting a blow job from the very same man, pressed to the same door.

      “Say it, Stevie.” Bucky commands, his hands stilling against the pale flesh of his trembling thighs. 

     “Suck my… cock… Bucky.” Steve sighs out, his body shaking with want. 

     Bucky’s red lips break into a lecherous smile, and he tugs the fabric separating his mouth and Steve’s cock down. The look in his eyes when Steve’s cock springs forth could’ve made the blond come just from looking at it. Embarrassed, he automatically shifts to cover up his erection. Bucky immediately pushes his hands to the side, taking in the view of his naked hips and pale cock. 

     “God, baby. You’ve got such a pretty cock.” Bucky mumbles as his hand encircles the girth, stroking slowly. “Look atcha, all handsome and all mine.” That almost brings Steve to the edge, a deep blush covering his chest at Bucky’s praise.

       A choked sob escapes him when Bucky takes the head into his mouth, tongue swirling slowly and languidly over the sensitive flesh. God, if Bucky wasn’t the damn prettiest like this, his dark lashes blanketing broad cheekbones, red lips stretched slickly over his cock. 

      His tongue flicks sharply under the flared head of his cock, hitting a particularly sensitive spot and making Steve’s thighs tremble, knees coming close to buckling. The sensations suddenly became almost too much, and Steve unknowingly begins to push away from the over-stimulating slide of Bucky’s tongue. The growl Bucky releases vibrates across Steve’s slick cock, and with fingers digging into the pale pink of his ass, he refuses Steve’s attempts at pushing away. A keening moan fills the air, and Steve flinches as he bites onto one hand to keep from crying out louder. His other was tangled in the mussed fabric of Bucky’s button-up, knuckles white from how tightly he pulled.

       “Oh.. ouh.. Oh my God Buck.” Steve mumbles, tears forming in his eyes as his brow furrows, head thrown back with his slim throat exposed. 

     That did it for Bucky, who, upon hearing Steve’s mewling words, took him in completely and hollowed out his cheeks. The suction was incredible, making Steve’s thighs shake even harder, to the point where Bucky had to help him remain upright. He was close, Steve could feel his body coil tightly, centering on the tightly strained muscles of his erection. Bucky’s head bobs swiftly over his cock, saliva and precome dripping down his chin. When he opens up his throat, taking the hard length deeper until his nose brushes against Steve’s slim navel, it completely unravels him.  
       

        “I’m gonna… oh my fucking…”   
       

          He comes hard into Bucky’s throat, releasing an unsilenced cry, his entire body trembling like electricity was rippling through his senses. The man below just keeps moving, pulling out every second of orgasm with each talented bob of his head. Steve ashamedly realizes that he was crying from the intensity, tears dotting his flushed cheeks as he gapes for air, asthma suddenly straining his breath from exertion. Bucky slips off of his cock with a wet noise, and gathers the weak, sated man into his arms when his legs give out beneath him. Steve gasps, fighting the tightness in his chest as Bucky softly strokes his back and kisses his head.

        “You did so good baby. Yer so good.” Bucky mumbles into his hair, the words comforting. “You should seen how you looked doll, all pink and tremblin’. God, the look on yer face when you came, so fucking pretty, like a damn angel babe.” 

        Steve can’t help but blush at his words, languidly sinking into the warmth of his chest as he slowly regains normal breathing. Everything around him was fuzzy, as if he were coated in an aura of wool, surrounded by the afterglow of his orgasm.

       The feeling of being so completely sated and warm, and loved is almost foreign to Steve. Yet even so, he felt as if it was always there, waiting to be unlocked, and not by just anyone, but by the dark-haired pianist who’d managed to open the walls within him.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy it, comment if you'd like to. :) I intend to stay on a schedule of one update per week.


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